


Intangible, Like Words on My Skin

by caesiumlight



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, Multiple Pairings, revealed within
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-17
Packaged: 2018-09-24 05:47:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9705857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caesiumlight/pseuds/caesiumlight
Summary: There are rules to this thing, his mother informs him at the age of eight, when a bout of loneliness from having moved to a new country pushes him to scrawl his phone number in felt marker on his thigh. You can’t reveal that kind of information about yourself.(Soulmate AU in which whatever you write on your skin appears on the other's.)





	1. Chapter 1

There are rules to this thing, his mother informs him at the age of eight, when a bout of loneliness from having moved to a new country pushes him to scrawl his phone number in felt marker on his thigh. You can’t reveal that kind of information about yourself. 

“What about how tall I am? Or my hair colour?” 

“Oh, those things are fine, sweetie.”

Luhan’s confused. “But you just said—”

His mother hums, patting his head. “Why don’t you treat this like a game, hm? It wouldn’t be a very fun game if you gave all the clues away.”

It’s a stupid game, Luhan concludes, even as he writes, in shaky hangul because his mother says practice is important, _Hello. Are you there?_

The ink fades away this time, unlike the phone number, still bold and black against his skin. He receives his response just minutes later, and it makes his heart hammer excitedly in his chest.

_Hello. Yes._

 

\--

 

Inspiration usually hits at the most inconvenient of times. More often than not, Yixing forgets to carry manuscript paper around with him, so he has to make do with his arms. Five black lines for a stave, then a treble clef. 

_Ti doh ti soh mi fa_

And then they disappear. Yixing drops his pen in surprise. It rolls under the bus seat in front of him, and Yixing cranes forward to snatch it back.

The Universe has just assigned him a soulmate. 

He waits, his pulse in his ears, his fingers twitching. 

_Go on_ , is the reply. _What’s next?_

Yixing grins, so hugely his cheeks hurt, uncaring of how he might look to the other commuters. Judging from his soulmate’s response, the person’s able to read the notes. Already, Yixing feels a connection stringing them together, tenuous but hopeful. 

_Fa soh la ti soh_

He runs out of space on one arm, so he hurriedly scrawls wobbly lines on the other and continues, even though writing with his left hand turns his notes into misshapen tadpoles. 

_Doh mi fa doh doh, Ti lah ti soh soh… That’s all I got so far._

_It sounds good._

_Really! Did you play it out?_

_I can sing it_ , and there’s a tinge of pride to his words Yixing can detect. _Keep em’ coming, partner._

 

\--

 

Make more punch, drunk Chanyeol decides, even as the last rational bits of his conscience plead with him to stop. The kitchen would be a good place to escape to anyway from the noise anyway.

Your fault, sings his headache in the morning, when the sun peeking through the curtains feels like… thousands of stabbing needles in his eyes. It’s too early for similes, but his aching head provides him with one anyway. Now if only his aching head could regain command of his non-responsive body. 

“Hi,” Baekhyun chimes, chipper and suspiciously hangover free.

“I hate you. And your parties.”

“Aw,” Baekhyun returns, completely unaffected. “I made coffee.”

That gets his attention, and Chanyeol summons enough strength to roll off the couch. He frowns when Baekhyun’s mouth drops open in shock. “What?”

“When did you erase all that?”

“Erase what?”

“The stuff on you!” Baekhyun gestures animatedly at Chanyeol, his hand motions making Chanyeol go a little cross-eyed. 

Baekhyun’s not making sense. Chanyeol tells him as much.

“We went to town with a Sharpie last night, after you passed out,” Baekhyun tells him matter-of-factly, as if desecrating his body were a completely normal thing to do. It is, Chanyeol admits with a long-suffering sigh, considering it’s Baekhyun. “When did you have time to get rid of them?”

Chanyeol stares at his unblemished arms and legs. “I… didn’t?” There’s nothing on him, as if whatever artistic licence his friends took just disappeared—oh. 

_Oh._

Chanyeol reaches out, with far more clarity than he had a moment ago, grabs Baekhyun by the shoulders, and starts shaking him with enough force to make his neck creak dangerously. “What did you draw on me, you life-ruiner, you—oh my god. Byun Baekhyun, tell me the first message I sent to my soulmate wasn’t a dick pic.”

“Oops,” Baekhyun squeaks. 

It’s only hours later that Chanyeol dares to try a second message, because god, his soulmate already thinks he’s an idiot and an embarrassment, what if the person was out in public when all that appeared? In the middle of a job interview? With a family member? His soulmate probably hates him and never wants to meet him and Chanyeol doesn’t know how to rectify it.

So he writes, small and sheepish, _Hi_ , on the back of his hand. _Sorry about that. I’m your actual soulmate, I guess? That wasn’t me previously, I swear._

God, that sounds lame, even to him.

_I see._

Chanyeol blinks in surprise. Hope buds in his chest, along with a flicker of elation. His soulmate is still willing to talk to him; he’d expected radio silence after all that transpired. _Nice to meet you_ , he ventures bravely. 

_Pleasure’s mine_ , comes the bone-dry response. _It isn’t every day that I encounter dudes with thirteen inch long dicks._

 

\--

 

“I don’t understand!” Zitao wails to Sehun, thrusting his arms in his face. “Look, my soulmate’s practically writing an essay, but it’s in Korean!”

Sehun raises an unsympathetic eyebrow. “Thought you were learning?”

“Help me,” Zitao whines, waving his arms about. “It could be important!” He is learning, but it’s going to take him far too long to read. What if his soulmate is trying to tell him something urgent? 

Sehun huffs, reaching out for Zitao’s flailing limbs and holding them still. “Important, right,” he says. “Your soulmate thinks your body’s a diary.”

“What?”

“Hi soulmate! How are you? I’m fine today. It’s sunny here! I went out to get some new shoes, they’re so nice! Then I—oh my god, I can’t do this anymore.” Sehun drops his peppy tone and rolls his eyes. “It’s basically nonsensical drivel about what he did in the day.”

“What did he say about the shoes?” Zitao wants to know.

“Amazing,” Sehun says, with all the enthusiasm of a wet paper bag, “you guys were made for each other.”

 

\--

 

One in five people never find their soulmate. It’s an alarmingly high percentage, but inevitable; the Universe designed this soulmate business in a fashion that practically prevents people from meeting.

Sehun thinks that the Universe can go suck it. Which is why he refuses to writes on himself.

“You have no faith,” Zitao tells him sadly, to which Sehun retorts that having faith in such a broken system is nothing less than stupidity.

The first time words appear on his wrist, Sehun quashes the sudden, unexpected flare of hope ( _stupidity_ ), and covers them with a bracelet. He ignores them until they fade, a rebellion, a protest. I’m not part of your silly game. 

(A small part of him feels guilt, thick and viscous, weighing him down. Guilt for the person waiting on the other side of the pen.)

 _Hello_ , Sehun reads once, because curiosity wins out. _How are you? I hope you’re doing well._

I’m not, Sehun wants to reply, because the messages leave him confused and aching and unbalanced, craving something uncertain and fragile. So he tries dismissing them with even greater fervour, wrenching his eyes away from the words whenever they materialize. 

But for all his grievances against the Universe, they must have known to assign him someone persistent. 

 

\--

 

With work taking up a hefty portion of his time, Junmyeon forgets to write. It’s not as if he doesn’t care for his soulmate, but dedicating so much of his energy to other things diminishes the need for him to connect with yet another person—especially a faceless, unknown one. It helps that his soulmate responds just as infrequently as well. 

Junmyeon doesn’t mind, really. They’re both busy people. Frankly, it’s a lot more convenient. 

“You look awful,” Junmyeon says without preamble to the man striding into his office. 

“Tired,” Yifan rasps, and he looks it. He’s dressed sharply, as he always is, but there are unmistakable bags around his eyes, and a slump in his shoulders. Junmyeon feels a sharp pang of sympathy. 

“I can postpone the photoshoot, if you need more rest.”

“It’s fine,” Yifan shakes his head. “Thanks, Junmyeon.”

Perhaps the proper reason he doesn’t reach out to his soulmate has much to do with the man standing before him. Rebelling against the Universe probably isn’t the wisest thing to do, but Junmyeon already knows what it means to love. It’s unfortunate that the person’s not the one assigned to him, but Yifan isn’t aware, and Junmyeon intends to keep it that way. He isn’t about to rob someone else of the joy of knowing their soulmate. 

“Have you eaten?”

Yifan smiles at him, fond and familiar. “No, mum.”

Junmyeon clucks his tongue, under the pretence of hiding his clogged throat, and grabs his coat from the chair. “Let’s go. Fried chicken?”

“You’re not as funny as you think you are.”

“Sushi it is then.”

“This is why you’re the best manager I’ve ever had.”

“Suck up,” Junmyeon throws back, ignoring the way the earnest compliment renders his heart. This is what it feels like to love, he understands. “I’m the only manager you’ve ever had.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Guesses? Ahaha.


	2. Chapter 2

_I dyed my hair pink today_ , his soulmate tells him. 

_That’s ridiculous._

_Pfft. You’d like it._

He would, really, if he could only just see it. Twenty-six and Minseok still hasn’t the faintest idea what his soulmate actually looks like, or where he is. All he knows is that he’s snarky, irritable in the mornings, very particular about hair products, and takes it personally when you insult his favourite sports club. And that he’s fond of drawing. Minseok’s grown accustomed to cartoony pictures of animals, or stick figures of Manchester United footballers appearing on random parts of his body. 

_Don’t you have something better to do_ , he pens on the back of his hand, when yet another depiction of Rooney materializes. He adds a smiley face though, to take the sting off his words, because no matter how embarrassing it is to be caught in public with doodles on him Minseok takes heart in them. It means his soulmate is still interested in this—whatever this is.

 _Work, duh_ , his soulmate replies, and it sounds like he’s bored, even though Minseok technically shouldn’t be able to tell. _I’m_ — 

It cuts off there, and Minseok sighs. If he has to guess, his soulmate had tried to reveal something too obvious, too big of a hint. What he does as a living definitely falls into that category. The Universe likes playing with them too much to allow that.

He’s proven right when minutes later, his soulmate writes, his penmanship jerky and frustrated, _I hate this shit. I want to meet you. Where are you? What’s your name?_

 _Minseok_ , he scribbles instantly in defiance, even though he knows it to be futile. _I’m in Seoul._

The ink from his pen remains on his forearm for the rest of the day, stark and mocking. 

 

\--

 

 _Too high_ , Jongdae complains. _You already know my range. It doesn’t encompass a high F._

In response, Jongdae receives a huge triumphant V sign on his palm. _I believe in you!_

Jongdae rolls his eyes fondly. His soulmate has the tendency to go wild with the songs he creates, often including powerful belting verses that Jongdae secretly adores but isn’t too confident of pulling off. 

He stares at his arm, worrying his lip. _I don’t know you, but I miss you_ , he dashes off on a whim, fitting the words under the notes given to him.

There’s a long pause, and Jongdae wonders if he’s overstepped. 

But then, _Are those lyrics?_

They’re my feelings, because I barely know you and it should be ludicrous, but I like you. I like you so much. I want to make you happy. Already I know you’re the kindest person I’ll ever meet, the brightest, the most beautiful. Jongdae hesitates, only writes _Yes._

Smiley faces dot his arm, spread to his legs—his soulmate seems intent on covering his entire body with them, down to his toes, and Jongdae can’t help it, he laughs. 

 

\--

 

Kyungsoo likens his soulmate to an overeager puppy. After their disastrous (albeit amusing, for him at least) introduction, wherein his soulmate had apologized repeatedly for three days straight, the person has taken every opportunity to leave encouraging notes that Kyungsoo tries to pretend aren’t endearing. 

_Hope you have a great day!_ or _Fighting!_ or _You can do this!_

Things like that. He wonders at times, with a hint of exasperation, why the Universe assigned him a soulmate who has such a contrasting personality to his. It feels almost like a practical joke, a relationship set up for failure. Kyungsoo doesn’t really do jovial and excited and eager. He replies to a two paragraph long message with two lines, and on occasion, forgets to respond even. He knows he probably comes off as curt and standoffish (because he is many things, but unaware of his faults is not one of them). 

It prompts him to ask, one day, _Does it bother you? That I’m like that?_

The response is almost immediate, and despite himself, Kyungsoo smiles. _Like what?_

_Unfriendly._

A thoughtful pause, and then, _You’re not unfriendly. You’re just quiet._

Kyungsoo blinks, taken aback, and touched.

 _Quiet is okay!_ his soulmate continues. _I don’t mind. I’m probably loud enough for the two of us. At first glance, we might clash, but I think we match. I think so. Don’t you?_

There’s a hopeful tone to that, and Kyungsoo senses vulnerability in his words. He reflects on the times he wakes in the morning to smiley faces and cheerful _Hello_ s on his wrist, his knee, his elbow, and how the flitting in his chest when his soulmate talks to him, about everything and nothing, is happy and very, very fond. 

_I think so too._

 

\--

 

Baekhyun’s soulmate writes to him in slow, measured strokes of hangul. The messages are formed after long pauses in deliberation, but Baekhyun waits all the more eagerly for his replies. His soulmate takes interest in every little thing Baekhyun has to report, from the weather to his choice in sunglasses for the day to his favourite Kpop bands. Baekhyun’s grateful, and maybe already slightly in love. 

On occasion however, he notices the penmanship turns sloppy and discouraged, almost as if his soulmate’s command of the characters can’t quite keep up with the speed he wishes to communicate. Baekhyun frowns, fork halfway to his mouth. He hadn’t stopped to consider that just maybe, his soulmate could be using a language he wasn’t familiar with. 

“Oh my god,” he says in revelation to Jongdae. “I’ve been so insensitive this entire time!”

“Wow,” Jongdae mock gasps. “It only took you years to realize!” He dodges the napkin Baekhyun throws at him.

“You don’t even know what I’m talking about,” he scowls, ignoring the unimpressed look their waiter throws him. 

“Enlighten me.”

“What if my soulmate speaks a different language?”

“Why don’t you ask?”

Baekhyun worries his lip, apprehensive. “What if that’s insulting? Like I think his Korean isn’t good enough?”

“Wouldn’t finding out more about each other increase your chances of meeting? I don’t think he’d mind.”

Between the two of them, Jongdae’s generally the one with better sense (not that he’d ever admit it), so Baekhyun decides to give it a try.

 _Do you speak another language?_ He waits, shifting impatiently in his seat, terribly nervous all of a sudden.

 _Yes!_ And then, sentences of Chinese characters appear on his forearm at alarming speed. It’s like a dam unlocked, and Baekhyun beams, sensing the eagerness of his soulmate to speak, to connect; the affection he feels for him multiplies tenfold. 

“Translate,” he demands, and Jongdae simply laughs at him like the terrible friend he is. 

 

\--

 

Jongin’s first thoughts when a spiking pain shoots up from his wrist is that he’s misjudged the distance of a move, and that he won’t be able to write for a while. It makes the injury seem frightfully worse. 

Back home, trying to pick up a pen results in a throbbing ache in his hand, and Jongin stares at the guard the doctor made him wear with equal parts resignation and dismay. Perhaps he could use his left, though his writing would be next to unintelligible.

(A small part of him sneers at him for even bothering. Why try, when your soulmate doesn’t even answer?)

He’s exhausted, and sore, and upset, and for the first time since the Universe declared that he was meant to spend life with another, the day passes without Jongin attempting conversation.

It gets easier, after that. Jongin realizes he’s less inclined to spend time wondering about why his soulmate spares him no thought when he doesn’t set a pen to his skin. He glances wistfully about him however, at people passing by on the street, engrossed in writing or reading, and wonders bitterly if he just so happens to fall into that category of those destined never to meet their other half. 

“You can still be happy,” Kyungsoo insists, but Jongin has seen how his friend looks up from his wrist with a pleased, tender smile and wishes he could be happy like that. 

Two weeks pass, his wrist heals, and Jongin restrains himself from reverting back to the habit of sending daily messages. It’ll hurt less, he decides. Eventually.

But then, Jongin wakes one morning to frantic words winding around his arm. 

_Are you alright?_

_You haven’t said anything in two months, did something happen?_

_Tell me you’re alright, please._

_Are you there?_

_Hello?_

His breath stutters— _it’s his soulmate_ , and he’s finally talking to him; Jongin wants to be happy, wants so very much to rejoice, but all he feels is something akin to anger. How dare he, after he’d just gotten used to the idea of not having one, _how dare he_.

Ignore him, a nasty voice inside him echoes. He’s not worth your time.

But the words keep coming, and it’s strange, this sudden role reversal, his soulmate now desperately trying to connect, and he disregarding all efforts. 

_Say something_ , the person implores for the umpteenth time, sincere and remorseful. And despite the hurt and resentment Jongin feels over months of silence, it pains him even greater to witness the strain he’s putting on the other. The instinctive desire to soothe and comfort when his soulmate is in distress is overwhelming.

 _Why now?_ he asks, after days of his arms covered constantly with pleas and apologies. _After so long?_

 _I was scared_ , is the truthful answer, and that, Jongin thinks he can understand. _I was scared, but now I’m more afraid of letting you go. It’s like a_ — 

_Hole in your heart_ , Jongin finishes. _I know._

_I’m sorry. I really am._

_You should be_ , but Jongin unthinkingly adds a little frowny face to diminish the bite in his words. 

Tentative and hopeful, his soulmate writes, _Can we try this again?_

 _Yeah, let’s_ , because he’s tired of fighting, and maybe forgiveness is as good a place to start as any. 

 

\--

 

If he has to be honest, Yifan would rather never meet his soulmate. Considering what he has now, he can’t see how forcing a connection would in any way add to his life, or happiness, or whatever drivel people like to spout about this. He’s got good friends, his work is challenging but worthwhile, and he’s very, _very_ well looked after. 

By Junmyeon, his mind traitorously supplies, but he hastily shoves the thought away. His manager does his job, and he does it well. 

Still, it doesn’t hurt to be polite. Yifan exchanges cordial pleasantries with his soulmate every couple of days, because as much as he doesn’t care for what feels like a farce of a relationship, he’s not that cold-hearted to ignore the person writing to him.

_How are you? I’m fine, thank you. Work has been tiring. Yours as well? Ah, make sure you get enough rest._

It goes on for a bit, banal and trite until his soulmate sends him an odd message. _9:00 am – hair and make-up, 9:45 am – shoot, noon – quick lunch, 12:30 pm – meeting, 3:15 pm – set_

His soulmate continues writing and Yifan frowns, utterly confused. _I don’t follow?_

_Oh! Oh I’m so sorry I always go through my schedule for the next day, I didn’t realize I was writing on myself!_

_That’s okay_ , Yifan scribbles back, chuckling. _Looks like it’s time for you to sleep._

_Yes, sorry about that. Goodnight._

_Goodnight._

He should probably turn in himself, with the early start he has tomorrow. He’s brushing his teeth when his phone pings with a message. It’s from Junmyeon.

_Yifan, you have to be at the studio at 9 tomorrow, so get your ass to bed._

_Yes mother._

_And you have a meeting with the photographer from D &G at 12:30, he wants to go over some of the earlier shots. Don’t be late._

He blinks, staring at the phone screen and then at the back of his hand. An odd weight settles over him, suppresses his heartbeat for an instant. 

_What do I have after?_ he texts back. It can’t be, can it? It can’t be— 

His manager rattles off the rest of his obligations for the day, and Yifan’s breath quickens as they match, time for time, every single appointment his soulmate inscribed onto the back of his hand. A coincidence, surely. He’s spent almost every single day with this manager, in the same room, over meals, working in such close proximity with each other. If Junmyeon was his soulmate, he would’ve felt something. 

_But don’t you?_ a voice needles at the back of his head. He’d just been so quick to suppress the feelings each time, content to settle with a strictly professional relationship if that was all Junmyeon was willing to give, and by all indications he was. 

Fingers trembling, he picks up a pen.

 _Are you still awake?_ Reply, Yifan silently prays, he can’t wait the usual three to four days, he needs to know, now. 

_Yes, hello again. Is something the matter?_

_I have a photoshoot tomorrow at the studio. I won’t have much time for lunch, but you’ll make me eat anyway because you care about my health. I have a meeting with the photographer after, the one who throws a hissy fit if I'm late. Then I have to book it to set, where I’ll probably spend the rest of the day. I’ll be exhausted and grumpy by the time they wrap, and you’ll drag me back to my apartment because I can’t be trusted to drive with my eyes half closed. Does that sound about right?_

A long, long pause. Yifan tries to remember to breathe, his chest tight. 

And then, _Yifan?_

 _Yes_ , he writes back immediately. _Yes yes yes it’s me yes_ — 

His phone rings, Yifan answers it, Junmyeon’s on the other end, weeping, saying _It’s you, I don’t believe it’s you, I’m so glad it’s you, that’s all I wanted, I wanted it to be you, Yifan I love_ — 

Yifan thinks about Junmyeon, and the constant he’s been in his life; I’m the only manager you’ve ever had, he had said with no small amount of pride, and accepts that the Universe knows how to get it right, sometimes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. And then the rest of them meet too, like Yixing and Jongdae pass each other on the street humming the same tune and go EXCUSE ME, and Minseok makes it a point to speak to every single person sporting pink hair until he finds Luhan, and then they all live happily ever after.  
> 2\. For chennychenchinchen because you quite literally guessed it all. :P


End file.
